As I prepare to fly to Detroit today for the day job—a couple of days of conversations about the future and what might come next—I find myself reflecting on another pivotal moment from a few years back. In 2017, we packed up our lives, left behind everything familiar, and moved clear across the country to South Carolina. That decision carried both excitement and trepidation in equal measure. I was eager for the opportunity ahead, optimistic about what it could mean for our future, but if I’m honest, I also felt a real undercurrent of uncertainty.

Sure, I had experience leaving home. I’d spent four years in the Marine Corps, stationed wherever the needs of the Corps sent me, and another three years living in La Grande, Oregon—a small town far from where I grew up. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea of starting over in a new place. But somehow, this move felt different. Maybe it was because we weren’t just talking about me anymore. We had roots. We had rhythms. We had routines that made life comfortable. And leaving all of that behind to chase an opportunity meant stepping into the unknown in a way I hadn’t quite experienced before.

Lately, with some potential changes on the horizon, I’ve found myself thinking back to that move more often. And as I thought about the reasons why it felt so daunting, I couldn’t help but see the parallels between that moment in my life and what so many high school athletes face when they make the decision to leave home and play college football somewhere far away. Every year, thousands of kids sign letters of intent, pack up their bags, and move across the country to join programs that they hope will help them chase their dreams. And as exciting as that is, I wonder how often we pause to really think about what that feels like—not just for the athlete, but for the family they leave behind.

For me, if we had to pack up and move again right now, I know it wouldn’t hit me quite as hard as it would my wife. With a grandchild already here and another on the way, her heart is firmly planted right where we are. After so many years of hoping and waiting for the next chapter of life to begin, one filled with grandbabies to spoil and family close by, the thought of putting distance between us and them is a heavy one. And that’s when it really hit me: how difficult must it be for the parents of an 18-year-old kid who’s heading across the country to play football? How does it feel to go from having them under your roof to watching them take off for a campus you may only visit a few times a year?

Everything they thought they knew about what the next few years would look like shifts overnight. For years, their weekends revolved around game days and team dinners. Their evenings were filled with post-practice conversations, car rides home from workouts, and the constant buzz of a house with a high school athlete in it. Then, in what feels like the blink of an eye, all of that is over. Now their child is living in a dorm room, figuring out how to navigate adulthood under the intense spotlight of college athletics. The routines are gone. The daily interactions disappear. And in their place is a new reality of phone calls, FaceTime sessions, and waiting for the next visit home—whenever that might be.

I’ve realized there’s a common thread that ties these experiences together. Whether it’s a parent sending their child off to college, a grandparent hoping to soak up as much time as possible with their grandkids, or even someone like me contemplating another career move, distance—whether physical or emotional—tends to bring clarity to what matters most. Love makes the absence feel bigger. It makes the quiet moments quieter. It makes the idea of missing out, even just a little, feel a whole lot heavier.

And yet, we know it’s part of life. Kids grow up. Opportunities come and go. Careers evolve. Nothing stays the same, no matter how much we want to hold onto it. In one case, the child leaves the nest, ready to fly on their own. In another, the nest fills back up, only for the fear of losing that closeness to surface all over again. The circumstances may change, but the ache is familiar. It’s the tension of wanting what’s best for someone you love while also wishing you could keep them just a little bit closer for just a little bit longer.

So, as I board yet another flight to talk about what’s next in my own career, I can't help but think about all the families facing those same conversations around kitchen tables this time of year. Official visits. Signing days. Big decisions that send kids off to new places.
High school seniors trying to decide how far from home they’re willing to go to chase a dream. Parents wondering what life will feel like once the house is a little quieter. Grandparents hoping the next move won’t take anyone too far away.

For some, these decisions are exhilarating. For others, they’re terrifying. And for most of us, they’re probably a bit of both. Maybe that’s just the price of growth, no matter how old you are. Whether you're 18 or 48, chasing a scholarship or the next rung on the corporate ladder, stepping into something new almost always means leaving something else behind. It's excitement and trepidation. Comfort and uncertainty. Pride and heartache. All tangled up together.

And somehow, we keep doing it anyway.